


Shirt Thief

by allourheroes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale & Malia Tate - Freeform, M/M, Minor Injuries, Scenting, Sharing Clothes, Stiles Stilinski & Malia Tate Friendship, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 16:24:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15953102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allourheroes/pseuds/allourheroes
Summary: Derek's wardrobe has changed...which wouldn't be such a big deal if he wasn't wearing Stiles's shirt. What the hell?In which Derek is a thief, witches are basically unimportant background characters, and Malia is the only one who understands what's up.





	Shirt Thief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [novemberhush](https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberhush/gifts).



> As part of an effort to make myself feel better, I asked for prompts and Dee asked for, **"Is that my shirt?"** Originally posted [here on tumblr](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com/post/177933697554/hey-how-about-is-that-my-shirt-for-a-sterek).
> 
> Look! I managed to write a fic where I didn't call them mates once! That's...progress??? But don't worry, I'm still horrible with titles. :)

Derek’s wardrobe has expanded, but it’s still a shock to see him wearing actual colors.

They’re in the Beacon Hills Preserve, Derek and Malia are scenting whatever it is they’re after while Stiles, Scott, Kira, and Isaac try to formulate what it is they might be able to do once they find the…witches? That’s their current guess, at least. It sounds a little far-fetched, but the way three students from the high school had just wandered out in the middle of Yukimura’s class had felt more magical than anything else they could come up with.

Unless all three of them were banshees or kanimas, it didn’t seem likely that they were supernatural creatures being drawn out against their will. It was more like something or someone was doing it.

That’s the theory Stiles and Lydia come up with, at least, and Scott _should_ know better than to question their logic, even if Isaac doesn’t.

Isaac and Stiles are in the middle of a useless argument when Stiles stops short, his gaze focused on Derek as something clicks in his head. “Is that my shirt?”

Even Isaac shuts up and everyone looks at Stiles, although Stiles doesn’t look away from Derek.

Derek who is… Who is _definitely_ wearing his shirt. What the fuck?

“Me? Why would I be wearing your shirt?” Derek asks, incredulous, lip curled in that way that makes him look like a douche. A hot douche, but a douche. Stiles hates it.

And Stiles isn’t one to back down. He strides up to Derek, causing Malia to glance between the two like she’s not sure if she should back away or continue the literal witch hunt. “I don’t hear actual denial in there, pal. Yeah, I know your tricks.” He points his finger to Derek’s chest which is, again, clad in his shirt.

Derek glares at Stiles’s finger, then his face. “Why would I even _have_ your shirt?”

Stiles’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t flinch. The memory of Danny asking about his cousin Miguel comes to mind and so he says, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Yeah?” Derek returns. “Like when?”

Kira worries her lip and addresses Scott, as Derek and Stiles continue on in the background. “So…are we going to keep looking for witches?”

Scott’s frown says a lot about his inability to make decisions sometimes. “I don’t know. Should I say something to them?”

“Not until someone throws a punch,” Isaac murmurs. “God, I hope someone throws a punch because if they start making out instead—”

“What?!” Stiles says, and he’s whirling around on Isaac. “We are _not_ — He’s a thief! He stole my shirt and now he’s wearing it like it’s his own!”

“How do you know it’s your shirt?” Scott asks, and is met with an expression of utter betrayal.

“Because that’s my shirt, Scotty.” A myriad of microexpressions flicker through him before he raises a hand in the air. “I got it!” He points now to Malia. “Sniff the shirt?”

“What?” Her face crinkles in disgust. “Why would I sniff the shirt?”

Stiles flails as he tries to explain, although Derek is suspiciously quiet. “If it’s my shirt—and it _is_ —it’ll smell like me. I wore that shirt, like, last week. I don’t want to think about what that means for how or when it was acquired by certain moody werewolves, but it should still smell like me. Sniff the shirt, Malia.”

“I don’t want to sniff Derek. That’s weird.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Stiles huffs. “Derek, take off the shirt. If somehow we’re living in an alternate, surreal universe made of lies and it doesn’t smell like me, you can put it right back on. And, if not, I’ll take it back.”

When Derek doesn’t immediately acquiesce, Stiles gestures wildly at Scott.

“Do it to shut him up?” Scott says with a shrug and Stiles looks like he’s about to rip off Scott’s arm, but it seems to work.

With his own dramatic huff, Derek pulls the shirt over his head and hands it to Malia.

Stiles does not look at how buff and shirtless Derek is. Because he’s _angry_. And if he does, well… It’s because he’s _glaring_. Not because he wants to look at Derek’s naked upper body. Nuh-uh. Not _now_ , at least.

Malia inhales deeply, frowns, and inhales again. Then, she sniffs Stiles for good measure. The shirt again. She drops it from her face to hang at her side. “It’s Stiles’s shirt,” she says.

Stiles pumps both fists down in a celebration of Derek’s complete and utter defeat. “See?” He grabs his shirt from Malia and sends Scott one more glare for good measure, then gives his full attention to Derek. “Ha!” At the roll of Derek’s eyes, his arms crossing over his chest, Stiles feels victory choking him. “Gah! Fine.” He tosses the shirt at Derek, whose eyebrows rise in surprise. “Put on a shirt. You can’t be out here like—” He gestures to Derek. “Like _that_. Come on.”

Derek puts the shirt back on and Stiles tries not to think how Derek looks in his clothes now that he’s given permission and the kneejerk anger is over. It’s not a productive train of thought.

~

A week passes in which they catch one witch. Only one. Of at least three. His name is Sebastian and he’s a real piece of work, but it sounds likes his compadres might not be as on his side as he insinuates. He had tried to set one of the math teachers on fire using some sort incantation, but it had required him to be closer to the building. Which meant the school’s resident supernaturals had tracked him down without too much difficulty. For all that he wants to commit mystical murder, he doesn’t seem to have a good grip on what werewolves can do.

Sebastian is now in a holding cell that Deaton has helped give a little extra somethin’ somethin’ to so that he has no chance of escape. Well, so they hope. Things are never as easy as they seem, but there’s not good enough reason to kill him yet.

They’re still working on it but, for now, life must go on.

Derek shows up at Stiles’s window while he’s helping Malia with her English homework—just helping her with homework since he’s given up on thinking about her romantically when he realized that the things he liked about her were things he liked about _Derek_ , not that he _likes_ Derek and that, that’s the point, right? He doesn’t like Derek, right?—and Stiles doesn’t bother moving from the bed. “Why are you here?” he asks, projecting the annoyance that covers his worry of there being something actually wrong.

“Your shirt,” Derek says, and the way he looks at the two of them, subtly sniffing the air, is a little weird, but so is Derek. At least he isn’t breaking in all the time anymore…that Stiles knows about. His eyes go to the shirt warily.

Stiles gives a nod of understanding. “That it?”

Derek looks between them _again_ , to the novels and notebooks, then to the way Stiles is already biting the back of his pen again. “Yep.”

Derek hesitates even longer and Stiles raises his eyebrows. “You gonna crawl back out through the window you crawled in or are you expecting me to conjure a magic portal or something?”

With a glare, Derek shakes his head, and then Stiles is watching his shapely backside disappear into the night again.

A little while later, Malia is getting antsy, prowling around his room like that’ll do her homework for her. She stops next to the desk where Derek dropped the shirt and picks it up. She stares at it for a second before pulling it to her face.

“What? Did he do something to it?” Stiles asks.

She shakes her head. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore.” She shrugs. “That’s probably why he returned it.”

Face screwed up in confusion, Stiles sits up on the bed. “What do you mean?”

Malia drops the shirt again. “It _reeked_ like you before.”

“Nice job using the vocab,” Stiles mutters, but he’s considering what she’s said. “If it smelled so much like me, why would Derek take it?”

Her eyes brighter, but lacking mischief, she suggests, “Maybe he likes the way you smell.”

Stiles stares at her, mouth gaping, for a long time. “You know what, all of you have such weird boundaries, I’m not even gonna ask anymore.”

“I’m just saying…” Malia starts, and she’s playing with a figure from his desk that gets him up so that he can take it from her. She pouts, letting him. “Maybe you should give him one of your shirts. The stinkier the better.”

His scowl would probably be a lot more effective if Malia were better at reading human facial cues. “What? Why?”

“I just said—”

He waves his hands. “Just—” He shakes his head. “No. Just no. Derek doesn’t want one of my…stinky shirts.”

“Underwear?” she suggests.

“Just stop,” Stiles warns.

“It’s not weird,” she says anyway. “Derek’s like me, right? He was born a wolf. It’s probably hard for your human brain to understand and I didn’t really _think_ about it much before, but…some things just smell good. Or, like…comforting. You know? So maybe you’re one of those things to Derek.”

“Why would I be one of those things to Derek? To _Derek_? It just doesn’t make any sense.” He settles back into his chair with a sigh. “I think you’re missing the obvious answer.”

She waits for it, leaning back against his desk.

“He wants to mess with me and thinks I’m too stupid to notice.”

Malia frowns, but she doesn’t fight him. When she gathers up her things to leave, however, she shoves something else into her school bag, too, careful not to let Stiles notice.

She may not be good at this whole school thing, smart like Lydia or any of them, but she’s got her instincts.

~

Malia doesn’t bother with knocking. She throws open the door to the loft and finds Derek sitting on the couch reading.

He’s up and alert almost immediately, but she doesn’t bother talking him down. Instead she opens up her bag and tosses him the shirt she’d retrieved from Stiles’s bed. It’s freshly worn, the scent strong, and she didn’t need to know why her cousin likes Stiles’s smell so much because she could sense the calm it gave him. She’s not great at chemo signals, but Derek’s emotions had been clear enough in the shirt he had brought back.

“Why—” But then he holds the shirt gently, reverently. He stares down at it like it’s something precious and Malia knows she was right. He swallows. “Thanks.”

“He doesn’t get it,” she says, because there’s something that tells her he needs understanding. That’s not really her strong suit, but she thinks of how Stiles was with her and things start to make sense. “Why you like his smell, I mean.”

“How do you—” He closes his eyes and Malia watches as the scent washes over him. “How did you figure it out?”

“Scent’s important,” she says. “I don’t know why you like his smell, but I get it.”

“Thanks,” Derek replies, but she can tell the word is hard for him to get out. “Again.”

Malia gives him a nod, heads back towards the door before she pauses. “Maybe if you told him, he wouldn’t mind. ’Cause I’m not about to start stealing shirts for you on a regular basis.”

Derek actually lets out a little laugh, but they don’t exchange another word as she leaves.

~

Maybe the other witches aren’t as opposed to Sebastian’s ideologies as he had led them to believe because there’s a disruption in the sheriff’s office a couple of days later and, although Sebastian is sadly left behind again when his friends have to make their own escape in order to not end up in there with him, they _did_ come for him.

“They congregate in the Preserve, right? There’s gotta be something there. And we’ve got a fresh trail to follow so it should be easier now. I mean, as long as we’re careful there shouldn’t be—”

Stiles doesn’t shout when he sees it this time, but when he glances at Malia and she stares back at him with a challenge in her eye, he knows that she did it. And a little part of him has to wonder if she was right.

“We are so going to talk about this,” he murmurs, although it’s unclear whether he’s talking to Malia or Derek.

But that’s put on hold as they chase down the witches through the Preserve and the witches have some sort of glamor over their makeshift base and these ones are apparently smart enough to cover sight and scent. It makes it easier to understand why they hadn’t found it last time.

One of the witches puts up a good fight and she hits Stiles with something that has him seeing double before all he sees is darkness and he falls to the ground.

He thinks he hears a roar before he’s down and out for the rest of the encounter. It makes him feel horribly inadequate, especially when he wonders if he’d have been able to do anything or at least counteract what was done, given some training.

Instead, he comes to in the Camaro, which he had vaguely wondered if Derek had sold, and snorts. “Now your car’ll smell like me, too,” he mutters indignantly, then he’s back to unconsciousness.

~

Stiles wakes up in his own bed the next morning with a massive headache. He’s still wearing most of his clothes from the night before, minus his dirt-and-debris-coated hoodie that hangs on the door. Blearily, his vision comes to a point of focus on his desk chair, where one of his shirts sit, neatly folded.

It’s the shirt Derek had been wearing the night before and he vaguely wonders if another has gone missing, but he’s really not sure.

First he has to find out what happened when he embarrassingly passed out last night and missed all the good stuff. He’s pretty sure it went alright considering the fact that he’s home and no one is trying to kill him.

His window slides open and he’s certain it’s going to be Derek, but then it’s Scott and Malia. Both of them. Climbing through his bedroom window. At some point, Stiles should really re-evaluate the boundaries he sets for his friends, but right now he’s happy to see them and know that they’re okay.

“So?” he demands.

But Scott ignores him. “Are you okay?”

Stiles waves his arms wildly, like the question has no relation at all to what’s important right now.

Malia sighs. “Just answer the question, Stiles.”

With a roll of his eyes, Stiles gestures to himself. “Yeah, I’m fine. Angry with myself for letting Little Miss Muffet knock me out last night, but otherwise.”

Scott clears his throat and looks at the wall and Stiles gets a sense there’s something Scott doesn’t want to tell him. Luckily, Malia isn’t nearly as reticent.

“What?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Derek nearly killed the witch who attacked you. Kira had to reassure him about ten times over before he dropped her.”

Stiles leans his head against the back of his desk chair and stares at the ceiling. “Great. Maybe he was trying so hard to get my scent so he could find me when I’m inevitably kidnapped for being so inept.”

“We all know that’s not true, Stiles,” Malia says, annoyed. “And Derek knows that’s not true. I think he likes that you can hold your own.”

“Yeah, dude.” Scott offers him a smile. “He has to know how many times you saved his ass. He finally got to return the favor.”

Stiles’s leg shakes. “I guess.” He shifts, pulls the shirt out from underneath him. The fact that he hadn’t given collapsing on top of it a second thought probably says too much about the current state of his room.

Malia eyes it with interest. “He gave it back?”

Stiles shoots her a glare and Scott glances between them. “Who?”

“Nothing.” And Stiles shakes his head, his fingers come up to touch his lip and find it swollen, sore. “Derek’s been wearing my shirts.”

“More than the once?” Again, Scott looks at Stiles and Malia, but no further answer comes.

Finally, they get to the whole story: The two other witches had tried to get Sebastian out because he was Karina’s brother. Karina was not the one that had nearly taken Stiles out. That had been her girlfriend, Beth. Beth and Karina hadn’t been happy hiding out in the woods, but once Sebastian had been caught, they hadn’t felt like they had much of a choice. The pack hadn’t gotten much more of their backstory, but from Stiles’s understanding, it sounded like they were just trying to learn a few things about magic and maybe try a few charms when Sebastian got it in his head that they should try to do more. Karina had wanted to protect her brother and Beth had wanted to protect Karina.

Deaton and the Sheriff are working out the details of what needs to be done and Stiles is glad that his dad is going to be able to solve a case with humans, at least. Magic-wielding humans, but humans.

“And no one else got hurt, right?” Stiles asks, because he has to.

Scott shakes his head. “I thought Derek, but no. It was just because he was so worried.”

“So worried?” Stiles asks, but then he remembers what Malia had said. “What? Because I got knocked out?”

Scott’s frown is answer enough, but he adds. “Maybe you should talk to him.”

Stiles’s gaze focuses on Malia. “Yeah, maybe I should.”

She looks far less ashamed than he thinks that she should be.

~

Stiles and Malia arrive at the loft together and Derek opens the door without preamble.

Stiles is caught with his hand hovering in midair, ready to knock, before he drops it. He notes with a certain amount of interest that Derek isn’t wearing one of his shirts. He’s not sure why it makes him uncomfortable. He tries to shake away the thought as they walk in.

“I said we needed to talk so let’s talk,” he says. He wanders to the window and then clenches his fist as an unwanted memory filters in, one from when he wasn’t himself. He doesn’t know why the nogitsune brought him here then, nor why he thinks of it now.

“Okay,” Derek agrees, and he gives Stiles a wide berth when he walks, like he’s afraid to get too close. Like he’s afraid of what _Stiles_ will think if he gets too close.

“First, you steal one of my shirts and wear it. Then, she steals one of my shirts. To give to you?” Stiles inhales deeply, and he notes that the loft has a smell, something _Derek_ about it, but his senses are not nearly as attuned as a werewolf or a werecoyote. He wheels around to look at them. “Why? Malia said you like my smell and, buddy, I have no idea what that means.” He claps his hands together and then gestures out, trying to convey exactly how little he understands of this whole situation.

He should’ve known better than to feign ignorance around them.

Derek is too uncertain to call him out, but Malia isn’t. Stiles isn’t sure whether he wishes she had more of a filter or if he’s glad that she doesn’t. It usually makes things faster if not easier. “That’s bullshit,” she says. “You get it more than anyone. More than Scott and he’s a wolf.” She looks to Derek. “And I think that’s part of why you like him. Right?”

Derek shuts his eyes and Stiles flickers his focus from Malia to Derek. “It’d be great if you could speak up for those of us who can’t hear heartbeats.” He can see Derek standing there, just breathing, so he steps closer. “Derek?”

“Yes,” Derek grits out.

“Yes?” Stiles prompts.

“Yes, that’s part of why I like you,” Derek says, and he opens his eyes only to roll them.

Malia perks up. “Good. I thought I’d have to explain everything,” she says. “Kira and Lydia said they’d take me to the mall today. I don’t really know what that means, but it sounds fun.” With that, she’s out the door.

Stiles spends a minute staring at the door after she’s gone, because if he looks anywhere else, he’s going to have to look at Derek. He runs his tongue over his lips, bites. He feels the blossom of pain, but he has to say something. They can’t just stand there saying nothing after _he_ demanded that they talk.

Because Derek likes wearing his shirts. At least, that’s where it all started.

“Why the shirts?” he asks, then shuffles his hands in a rolling motion. “Scent, yeah. But what about it? Why me?”

“It makes me feel…” And Derek stops, but he’s caught. He blinks and his expression is different, more open. “Safe.” But his voice comes out quiet and shy and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with that.

So he laughs, a too-loud bubble of self-deprecating amusement. “Safe?” he questions. “I don’t know if you remember last night, but I was down for the count.”

“Yes,” Derek agrees. “But safe doesn’t mean you’re perfect. Or that you never need to be protected. It just means that…”

“Yeah?”

“You make me feel safe.”

Stiles gawks at him, but then he remembers that Derek is being totally serious. He swallows, nods. “And so when you wear my shirts, you feel safe?”

A bit sheepish, Derek nods. And it may be hotter than all of the times that Derek has run around shirtless or flashed his eyes or fangs or—okay, Stiles has a werewolf-related problem, but that’s okay.

“I make you feel safe,” Stiles rephrases, and he steps closer. Derek is only a couple of inches taller than him, but with his current hunch, they’re pretty equal in height.

“You don’t have to mock me for—”

But Stiles puts his hand on Derek’s shoulder and effectively stops him in his tracks. “Derek.”

“Yeah?”

And Stiles grins, wide and happy. “That’s awesome. Seriously.”  


Derek lets his guard down, looks into Stiles’s eyes. “Stiles, I…” He makes this face like everything is a struggle and Stiles realizes that it probably is. It makes his heart swell again to think that he—and his shirts, by extension—make life a little bit less of a struggle.

“You have deep, desperate feelings for me and you’re wondering if I feel the same?”

Derek doesn’t answer, but his glare is fond.

Stiles laughs, wrapping his arms around Derek’s neck. “For a long time, I would’ve said no. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to climb you like a tree. But I also wanted to punch you in the face.”

Again with the nonverbals, Derek raises an eyebrow.

“Maybe recently…very recently…I realized I was scared.”  
  
“Of me?”

Stiles shakes his head. “Nah. More like…of what would happen if I had feelings for you. But then I guess it’s too late for that, huh?”

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” Derek tells him earnestly.

“Ugh.” Stiles rolls his eyes and he feels like they could fall right out of his head. “C’mere.”

He uses just a tiny bounce onto the balls of his feet to press his lips to Derek’s, swollen lip be damned, and his arms wrap tighter around Derek’s neck as Derek’s find his waist.

He pulls back. “God, we’re both so stupid. How are we so stupid?”

Derek leans into his neck and inhales and Stiles melts. It doesn’t matter. At least they’re a little _less_ stupid now.

~

When Stiles goes to leave the next morning, after a thorough day and night of making out and cuddling, he pulls Derek in for a kiss, ignoring the now increased soreness of his lip.

“Is that my shirt?” Derek asks, eyebrows drawn in amusement.

Stiles looks down at the henley, then back up at Derek with a smirk. “Yeah. You got a problem with that?”

Derek’s nostrils flair and Stiles wonders if Derek is getting off on Stiles in his clothes, wrapped in his scent. “No.”

Stiles kisses him again. “Good. ’Cause I left mine for you.”

And Derek looks at him like he hung the moon.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com) // [prompt me](http://allourheroes.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> And if you know why I named the worst of the witches Sebastian...


End file.
